


Fire's Blood.

by LadyWinnelynPooh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aladdin (Disney Movies) Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Lion King Fusion, Arabian Fantasy, F/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 11:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30020961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWinnelynPooh/pseuds/LadyWinnelynPooh
Summary: Fira knows that her father murdered the old king, and she wishes to be free from her father's past. When she meets a boy in the marketplace, she realizes that there are things she was never told in the first place.A retelling of Aladdin and the Lion King.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Ranna Dakna Fira/Siran





	1. Introduction

This story is set in a world of elements and magical kingdoms, like any good fairytale. But not all the stories that I shall tell of these kingdoms are fairytales, and not every girl a heroine....


	2. Chapter 2

I slam the door of my bedroom behind me in a rage. My dear friend, Ashara, looks up from the new caftan that she is sewing. ''What's wrong with you, dear?''

''My father has found me a suitor!'' I exclaim.

Ashara looks curious. ''Well, you are of the marrying age.''

''I've never met him! There are rumors that he killed two of his wives. And he's thirty years older then me.'' I finish my tirade. Then I head to the bed, and sit down on it, Ashara sitting next to me.

''It's all right. I'm sure you'll be able to handle the matter.''

I glance down at my red caftan, and look at Ashara. ''No. I cannot. Father's advisors say that it's a good match. Most likely so they won't lose their heads. I do wish my aunt was home. She could do something about it.''

''Such a pity that the rule is a princess must marry who her father chooses here.'' Ashara remarks casually. ''The rules are different across the kingdoms, of course.''

''I know. I wish he was only a suitor, and not a possible husband.''

''Your father wants to find you a husband.'' Ashara giggles. She stands, and walks out of the room, leaving me to myself. When Ashara has closed the door behind her, I get up from the bed and walk over to the large mirror on one side of the room. I am beautiful, I know that. One of the most beautiful princesses that the Aljid family has ever seen. ''More beautiful then your mother at that age.'' my father says. 

My father never loved my mother. He only wanted her.

My reflection in the mirror is olive-skinned, with large almond-shaped ash-blue eyes, long, flowing reddish-black hair, and a naturally slim waist, that unlike princesses and countesses and duchesses in other places, does not even need what they call a corset or stays to pull it in.

If only I could call on my aunt for help, or even my dearest, closest friend, Caesaria Talise Wateria Pearla of Atlantis- almost everyone calls her Talise, her family calls her Wateria, but I call her Pearla- to help me! She would know what to do! She is so far away in her homeland of Atlantis, though. 

Oh, well, he will arrive tomorrow, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Ashara returns, opening the door with a book in her hand. ''Here, Fira. Something to distract you from the imminent arrival of your suitor.''

I take the book from Ashara. It is one on the history of the Zaahid kingdom, the very earliest in the country we call Kessheti. While the Zaahid kingdom was small, it had a powerful navy, trading with countries as far away as Atlantis, out in the Great Western Sea.

''Thank you, Ashara.'' I return to my bed and flop down on it. Ashara sits down next to me, spreading out the purple patterned skirts of her dress. I read until bedtime.

Amira, our maid, comes in to help us prepare for bed, and I set the book on the table near the bed.

We climb into bed, and fall asleep-well, Ashara tries to. It has always been hard for her. She has bad dreams at night, so I tell her stories to help her sleep.

It starts as soon as Amira leaves the room. I turn over and begin whispering one of the old tales to her, a tale from the poet Jamileh. A tale of a nightingale who made a deal with an old sage to save the human she loved from an evil witch. Soon enough, Ashara falls fast asleep.

XXX

''Oh, quickly, your highness! The Caliph will soon be here!'' Amira bustles around the room, picking up caftans and putting them down. ''I can't find anything that would suit you for this moment!''

Ashara, who stands near me, goes over to the heap of caftans, looks through, and picks one up, a sky-colored caftan with sleeves tight till elbow and then slashed and flowing till wrist, and silver woven patterns, with a silver girdle to go about the waist.

''I think that this will do.'' she states.

Amira comes over and smiles at Ashara, and takes the dress from her. She returns to me, and I slip the dress over my bare body.

Amira fetches the brush then, and brushes my hair, tangled from sleep, and gathers it into a twisted chignon, winding a rope of sapphires, blue as my dress, around my hair as she gathers it up, and sets the coronet of jewels on my head.

I turn around, twirling my blue, silk-voile skirts and making sure that the dress hangs perfectly on my slim frame. ''Well?'' I turn to Ashara.

''You look lovely, Ranna Dakna.'' Ashara says, using my title of Most High Princess in the Rudeyan language, the language of the royalty and nobilty in Kessheti.

I smile, thank Amira, and hurry down the twining staircase to the throne room, where my father, the Ran Dak, waits to introduce me to my possible husband. 

His clothes are rich, embroidered cottons, and a silken turban winds around his head to prevent dust or sand flying in his eyes.

''Ah, my darling Fira, may I introduce you to Caliph Ranjan Singza of the Ismal Caliphate.''

''A pleasure, Caliph Singza.'' I sink into a curtsey.

''You did not tell me your daughter was so beautiful!'' the Caliph exclaims, turning to face my father. My father nods in acknowledgement.

''Yes, I am proud of her. She is indeed most lovely and talented.'' Father says. ''Would you like to show him around the palace, Fira?''

No, I do not want to, and I terribly dislike the man's looks, so I say, ''Perhaps the Caliph would like me to show him the tiger preserve we have, or the leopard one.''

My father gives a short laugh. ''Do not worry, Caliph. Fira only jokes.''

''I do not joke, Father.'' I tell both him and my potential husband. I know they can both see it, the glint of ash-black and the magical steel of amber in my blue eyes, that will inform them I have fire at my will, and I could conjure it on both of them.

''Fira, go to your room. I shall show the Caliph our library.'' Father gestures, and I leave, but I do not go to my room. I walk along the hallway, then press on a panel in the wall, and it opens to reveal a secret passageway. I can feel them behind me-my aunt's shadows. Even when she is not here, they are, and I know they watch over me.

So I am safe as can be.

I head down the passageway, all the way to where a secret entrance opens up to the library. I put my ear against the entrance, and listen. 

Father speaks to the Caliph, speaking of how I must be tamed, that I am like a lion myself, that I must be controlled.

''Your daughter has magic? The gift of fire?''

''Yes, like her mother. Like all Aljid women.''

That is a lie. Mother was not an Aljid, Father is. The Aljid family has no magic. I only have magic because I inherited it from my mother, the former king's wife and cousin, and as such, their family, the Ishacs, were the true rulers of Kesseti.

I turn and leave the passageway, and I am decided. I shall not let my father sell me off to a man I know nothing of. I shall do what Pearla would do- choose my own husband, a man who I can respect, and love. But first I must become queen, so that I can change the rules.

That night, Ashara asks me, ''Well, what did you think of the Caliph?''

I shrug. ''I have just met him, but I cannot say I do not dislike him. There is something about him I do not like at all.''

''Fira, could you not grow to love him?''

I shake my head. ''No, not at all.''

Ashara pats my shoulder. ''Don't worry. When your aunt comes home, I'm sure she will fix things.''

I nod. ''Yes. Now shouldn't we go to sleep?''

XXX

The next morning, I wake up before Ashara does, and dress myself, choosing an azure blue robe with silvery embroidery. Then I slip out of the room, and head to the library to get a book, the poems of the poet Nefret, from the early Haeval empire, a small kingdom to the north of Zaahid, who ran their agriculture by the annual flood they received. Though he is a man, he writes of family and love so beautifully. His poems are some of my favorites.

When I get there, I am not alone. 

My aunt greets me joyfully, and I run to hug her, the book in my hand. ''It is so good to see you, Aunt Sefara.''

''Yes, it's good to see you as well, dear. How fares your father?''

''As well as can be.'' I say. ''He wants to marry me to the Caliph of the Ismal Caliphate. The marriage is, in his eyes, official already.''

My aunt lets me go and shakes her head in disgust. ''How dare he! How dare he! Oh, I might have expected it from him, that snake of a brother I have.''

She turns to me. ''Do not worry, Fira. I shall speak to him, hope that I can change his mind.'' and she leaves the room. I stand there, watching her leave before I return to my own room.


	3. Chapter 3

I enter the throne room to find my aunt scolding my father. Well, at least I think she is. He screams at her, she stays quiet.

''You could at least try to marry her to someone with a better reputation.'' she says, hands clasped in front of her.

''Fira must marry, and the Caliph is the best person for the job.'' Father replies. ''I am her father. I know what is best for her.''

''There are rumors that people are beginning to hate the Caliph. If Fira does marry him, if a rebellion comes, she will be the victory prize for the new Caliph. You would see some man have your daughter the same way you took your wife?''

It is like being slapped in the face, and they both know that. He does not answer her. 

I laugh quietly, and return to my room.

I find Ashara sitting on the floor, on a brocaded cushion, reading a book of fairytales from the far-away land of Karine. 

''My aunt's here.''

''Yes, I know. I was told so.'' Ashara shuts the book, and looks at me. ''I do hope she doesn't burn down the castle in the process, as she seems to be terribly mad at your father.''

I laugh and scold her. ''Ashara, don't say such things!''

She smiles, and brushes a wavy lock of dark brown hair out of her face. Today, she is in yellow, with a patterned, sleeveless gold jacket. Carefully placed slits on the fabric show bits of leg here and there, and her feet are bare.

''So, what shall you do?'' she questions. I smile.

''I could run away.''

Ashara laughs. She stands up, still holding her book. ''You're really very amusing, Fira.''

My aunt comes in, closes the door behind her.

''Well?'' I look at her.

''I'm sending you and Ashara to visit your cousin Sahira, the governor of Cacide, which you know, dear niece, is twelve miles to the north.''

''I have not seen Sahira in some-time, and I do look forward to seeing her. When shall we go?'' I ask.

''In a week. I shall try one more time to change my brother's mind, and if it does not work, you shall go and visit your cousin.'' Aunt Sefara explains, pacing back and forth as she speaks.

The train of her wine-colored voile caftan sweeps behind her as she paces, edged in glimmering gold thread. A girdle made of gold set with shining garnets lies clasped around her waist, and garnets are set in her sleeves.

It is my favorite dress of hers.

That night at dinner, Father says, over his plate of grilled chunks of chicken, a stew of prunes and meat, and a cake of rice with raisins and green beans, that the Caliph will be staying until he has won my hand, and I can see the furious look on my aunt's face.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, I ignore the look on my father's face, filled with the same delight as the Caliph's. I wish Pearla were here. If she were, she and Aunt Sefara and I could all put our heads together and come up with a plan.

My aunt escorts me back to my room, her three Shadows trailing behind her. ''Do not worry, Fira.'' She reassures me. ''I will find some way.''

There is only one way, I think. I close and lock the door of my room, startling Ashara, who looks curiously at me.

''What is it?''

I do not answer her just yet, and doff the bright-green silk gown with it's wide pleated sleeves that I wear, and pull on a gown of plain orange, fetch a plain green wool headscarf and leather sandals.

''What are you doing?''

I slide on my sandals.''Running away. I will not stay here and let my father control my life, choose for me who shall be my husband.''

''What shall I say if your father asks me where you've gone?'' Ashara steps closer.

I stand up. ''Tell him you were asleep and did not hear me leave.'' She nods, looking sad. She reaches out, embraces me.

''I shall miss you.''

''I shall miss you too.'' I say. I slip from her grasp, move over to the window, and climb over it, climbing carefully down the ragged stone and head to the large gates that block the entryway into the palace. Shutting my eyes, I summon up a spell of Bright Fire magic, pressing my hand to the wood and the doors open at my touch, without a creak or a sound. Luckily, it is time for the changing of the guards, which is done every night. So there is no one there to see me. 

I take one last look at my old home, and slip out the doors, murmuring a spell to close them. I walk along the abandoned, silent streets, find an alley, and half-shut my eyes, waiting until the city of Nerual wakes up.

Dawn arises, pale and pink and light orange, and I see the first glimmer of the golden sun. I wait just long enough for enough people to walk about the streets, and move out of the alley, slipping into the crowds of people.

Around me, sellers hawk their wares; jewelry, fruits like dates and pomegranates and figs, fish, mixed nuts, clothing. It is all so new!

So this is what is like to wander unknown through your own people. Pearla spoke of it often, and said it was the best way to know your people, their joys and their troubles and their sorrows. I wonder, is she here, disguised like I am? Scarcely has the thought reached my head, then Pearla's arm is clasping mine.

''Fira!'' she laughs. 

I put a finger to my lips. ''Don't, Pearla. I don't want them to know who I am.''

''Of course you don't.'' She says. She wears the Illerian fashion that Atlantean girls wear in the North of their home country, a fitted bodice and flowing skirt with an overskirt of a lighter fabric drawn back on the sides. Her bodice and skirt are lapis-colored linen, and her overskirt is seaweed-green patterned fabric that is made in Sungardia, our neighbor to the south. Her normally blue waves of hair have been bleached pale yellow with a water spell, and she is barefoot, as is her custom when she is disguised.

''Isn't it wonderful, to walk about among your own people, they not knowing who you are/'' she laughs.

I nod, and we walk together, her arm looped around mine. She points out sights to me, and I point out things to her that she might not have seen before.

To bystanders, to lookers-on, they see simply two girls enjoying themselves, two friends.


	4. Chapter 4

''How fares your husband?'' I ask.

''Perseus? He's very happy, taking care of Aquaria. She's on her twelfth year of age now, and my boys are two and eleven respectively.'' She tells me, blue-green eyes sparkling.

''So you left your poor husband all alone at home with four children?'' I tease.

She laughs. ''Oh, no! I have my cousin Deirdre helping him, and Lorelei and Aquaria can help take care of their younger siblings.''

''That's a relief to hear.''

The shouting of a crowd garners our attentions, and we hurry over to the people clustered together. 

To Pearla's delight, it is a swordfight, something she enjoys. 

''I am not too fond of the gladiatrix back home.'' she confides to me.

One of the two men is short, with a large belly and short dark beard. He shouts '' Loipón, poú eínai aftós o archários pou tolmá na prokalései ton megálo Bahar?'' 

Pearla translates, pretending that I do not speak Atlantean, for the benefit of those that stand nearby. ''Well, where is that upstart who dares challenge the great Bahar?'' Afterwards, she remarks quietly, ''He looks Illerian, although Illerians are not so chubby.''

''Great? More like fat!'' A young man shouts in Kessetian, presumably his opponent.

We can't quite see the boy, as a fat lady blocks our view on the right side. But we can hear his voice, and the clanging of iron swords.

''You fight like my sister!'' Bahar yells, resorting to the local language to call his opponent names.

''I've fought your sister!'' the young man retorts, and Pearla mutters one of her water spells under her breath, which switches the fat lady with a slimmer one from somewhere else in the circle, and now we can see.

''Well, that's better!'' I giggle, watching the fight. Bahar's back is to us, so we still cannot see his opponent, until Bahar is knocked flat on his back, and the young man bows to the crowd's applause.

Now that I have a good look, I can look, and when the boy's head goes up, I stare. He is thin, but well-built, compared to Bahar's plumpness. His skin is olive, like my own, and his hair flops about his face, reaching to his chin in dark red waves. His eyes are large and reddish-brown, and he has a charming smile.

Pearla looks at me curiously, and I turn my head away, blushing. ''Handsome lad, isn't he?'' She whispers. ''Reminds me of my Perseus.''

We turn away, leave the crowd, continue to walk. ''Yes, Pearla. He is handsome.'' 

''Reminds me of one of my old suitors, too. Can't quite think of which one.'' Pearla says, and bids me goodbye. She disappears, and I make my way in the street till I notice a child staring hungrily at the bread stall.

The poor thing. It looks so scrawny and hungry. How long has it been since it ate? I walk over, pick out a piece, and hand it to the child. 

''Here, take it.'' The child looks at me, and smiles. Then it goes off with the bread, and I smile. At least I can do something for the people I am to rule. Does father know that children in his capital city starve? Does he care? Mama would. She would want to do something about it. And I am my mother's daughter.

The man in charge of the bread stall notices, and says, ''I hope you can pay for that.''

''Pay? I'm afraid I have no money.''

''Then the punishment would be to cut off your hand.'' The man says. I am afraid. I could summon my magic, but they might think I am a witch. They have never seen me in all their life. And I doubt that they care for me. I am the usurper's daughter, after all.

He grabs my hand. Just about as he is to lift his large carving-knife, a young man slides in and grabs his hand.

''Oh, no, Ishan. This girl hasn't done you any harm. She only meant to feed a starving child out of the pity of her woman's heart.'' the young man says, and I turn dark pink, because this is the same man I watched fight merely minutes ago.

''Young Siran, I don't care why she did what she did, but at least she could pay for what she did!'' This so-called Ishan says. Siran. That's a pretty name. He turns to me. 

''Do you have any way to pay?''

I look down. ''I have an idea.'' I whisper to him. I slip one hand into a fold of my robes, think a Fire spell, and a gold amulet appears in that hand. I give it to him. ''Use this.''

He takes it, hands it to Ishan. ''Here. Will that do?''

Ishan takes it. ''Thank you very much. Now get your little street rat of a nose out of here. Go on, go!'' He makes a shooing motion with his hand.

Siran smiles at me, and tugs me off. When we are out of earshot, I say, ''Thank you.''.

''Ahh, no trouble. Helping maidens who are in trouble are my speciality.'' He says, and a lock of his hair falls in his eyes. 

He tucks it away. ''Who are you? What's your name?''

Oh. I had forgotten to think of that. It does not matter what I tell him. I will leave this city tomorrow, or tonight, and he will forget me.

''Ashara.'' I say. ''Ashara Ishaae.''


End file.
